27th January 2015
It had been a year since Yazid had gone into remission, but he was still…not ill, not anymore, but still recovering. The last round of treatment had been particularly aggressive, and he had only been back at work for a couple of months now, and…
Sometimes Ali forgot, because Yazid was just so jubilant and cheerful all the time, and then when he remembered it was like a truck to the chest. Like getting him out of bed in time for the train to Leeds on Tuesday morning. He’d been groggy, nauseous, and bleary-eyed; Ali had decided on taking the bus to the station, then when they were waiting at the stop and Yazid had sat down on the pavement because “standing’s too tiring,” Ali had given in and called a taxi.
The train journey had taken a couple of hours, though, and Yazid
